


King Benath Me

by PGT



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Decisions, Class Differences, Drunk Sex, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, OOC, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Table Sex, sorry brando
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PGT/pseuds/PGT
Summary: A drunk Elhokar summons Kaladin. He comes, anticipating the paranoid king to suspect another attempt at a life. Kaladin is greeted with a far different interaction than he expected.
Relationships: Kaladin/Elhokar Kholin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	King Benath Me

**Author's Note:**

> Im not dealing with Syl in this ok she's hanging with windspren or smth rn dont worry about her

Kaladin determined he was as insane as the world believed Dalinar to be. For this was certainly a delusion, as there was no other rationale for the circumstance he’d fallen into.

He’d been ushered in through the doorway by Elhokar, who hadn’t hesitated to pull him in by the arm. His eyes- golden to the point that they practically glowed, were wide as they were when he was fearing for his life. But there was an underlying difference in the dilation of his pupil, wide like an animal at night. His appearance, too, should have been a clue. He wore less than he might for a public impression, hardly unusual in his own private chambers. However, any lighteye had a certain standard. The untucked shirts and unbuttoned vest hardly matched the expectation Kaladin had for the king.

Evidence of a more tidy uniform lay across the room-- his Urithru chambers were a poor mockery of his kingly suite in the warcamps, though lavish all the same, furnished with more drawered dressers and tables than Kaladin could count, tables with carved legs and chairs with plush backs, a four-post bed draped with curtains of Kholin blue. His crown and capes were cast aside on one of the many dressers, the metal of the crown and the chain reflecting the pure sapphire light cast from glamorous sphere lanterns sporadically placed across the room. Overall it was an eyesore, and might have been what drew his attention were it not for the king that held him by the wrist.

Elhokar shut the wooden door with a clamor, though he did not release his grip. The sweet fragrance of violet wine betrayed his condition as less than sober, though from a closer look it was not the only sign of his inebriation-- the king’s cheeks were flush, and a loose smile contradicted the intensity of his eyes. Kaladin attempted to scour the room for whatever the king had summoned him for, ‘alone, no other guards.’ He’d assumed this was another of the paranoid man’s imagined assassination attempts.

He ushered Kaladin towards a table, where a pitcher of violet stood, more empty than full. The king poured a glass-- single handedly, as he had yet to free Kaladin-- and offered it.

Kal took it, though he did not drink. He scowled at the king, held his tongue against the first word that came to mind.

“What did you call me here for? Is something wrong?”

“Hardly,” It was the first word Elhokar had spoken, and his voice was low, laced with something Kaladin couldn’t interpret. No, in hindsight, he could have, he simply refused to.

Elhokar poured himself a glass, immediately swallowing the whole amount before setting it down again. Finally, he released Kal’s wrist. As if surprised to see him still standing, he waved with both hands, battering Kaladin into a chair. “Sit, sit.”

Kaladin was of the mind that the man could use a good nap, and against his own reason he resisted the urge to induce one with a quick punch. He had no real incentive to actually sit in the chair-- the flimsy smacks hardly enough to actually influence his decision but for their annoying persistence. But the king hadn’t even explained why he was even summoned, and so he sat against the soft cushion and waited for the king to speak.

Instead, Elhokar also sat. Not in another chair, but on Kaladin’s lap, legs straddling Kaladin’s as if he were mounting his warhorse, hands settling across Kaladin’s shoulders. 

His face got close, and Kaladin’s brain shut off. 

“You’re a brilliant man, Kaladin Stormblessed.” pungent breath fell across Kaladin’s lips, close enough for him taste the wine himself. Elhokar was warm against him, and where their bodies connected he could feel a hardness between the king’s thighs. 

If he was supposed to respond, he didn’t manage to. Half his mind told him to throw the king off his lap and bolt out the door. The other half locked him in place as if he were soulcast to stone. Elhokar drew closer until his lower lip brushed Kaladin’s clean-shaven jaw, running up it to his ear. The king’s hands lifted from Kaladin’s shoulders to his neck, threading through his hair and leaving trails of fire. It was wrong, but Almighty knew Kaladin hadn’t been touched in a very,  _ very _ long time.

So he stayed frozen as Elhokar pressed closer, until their chests touched, and Elhokar’s warm breath and prominent nose grazed his ear. Elhokar tilted his head upward, leaving Kaladin’s neck exposed, where he began to plant loud kisses that stirred something buried within Kaladin’s core.

He didn’t understand  _ why _ , but in the moment, that hardly mattered. His body was reciprocating to the touches, heat warming his cheeks and collecting between his legs. Forgotten in his hand he still held a glass of violet, though his other hand remained free. Cautiously, he let it settle against the small of Elhokar’s back, earning a purr of approval from the older man. 

“You’re married,” the guilt of the fact gave him just enough pause to remind the man, though it didn’t stop Elhokar’s trailing touches. 

“I’m a father, too.” he said against the point where Kaladin’s neck met his shoulder. “Hardly relevant.”

“You’re a light eye.” 

He sat up, though his fingers still massaged Kaladin’s scalp. He met Kaladin’s eyes, suddenly seeming far more lucid than he had. “And a king, and a storming terrible example of both. If you want me to stop, you’ll throw me off and walk out that door.”

For a moment, they only stared at one another.   
Against his better judgement, Kaladin leaned forward, pressing his lips against the king’s. 

They were soft against the coarseness of Kaladin’s, flavored in violet and wet. The king was eager to deepen it, biting at Kaladin’s lips until he opened them, allowing the king’s tongue to explore his own, further tasting one another, wet noises filling the otherwise silent room. Elhokar’s hands fell back to Kaladin’s shoulders, then to his collar, tackling the buttons of his uniform to bare his chest.

Still only able to touch with one hand, Kaladin found his hand rounding the king’s ass, taking a hold through his trousers, earning another pleased hum. The king got Kaladin’s coat undone, quickly rucking his undershirt up and splaying his hands over firm muscle, touched with scar tissue and soft black hairs. With a sure movement, the king thrust his hips against Kaladin’s, causing their groins to press against each other, growing interest causing both to harden further, so that their pants visibly tented. On a second thrust, Kaladin allowed himself to groan at the friction, at the attention.

He leaned forward, pressing them together in each point of contact-- hand on chest, mouth on mouth, hips on hips. It was just so that he could reach the table and set the cup down, so that he would have his hand back. Still, the king took it as a sign of Kaladin’s own eagerness. Anticipationspren fluttered against the chair legs, and a single passionspren danced overhead. 

Barely parting more than what was necessary to speak, Elhokar spoke against Kaladin’s lips. “Table or bed?”

Table was closer. He stood, holding Elhokar up by his thigh, the older man quickly wrapping his legs around to prevent himself from falling. With his freehand Kaladin made space to set the king down, pushing the wine as far away as he could reach to prevent their spilling. 

As soon as he was seated, Elhokar’s hands fell to the bridgeman’s belt, fumbling with the buckle. As soon as it was undone he found the buttons underneath, only smalls separating his hand from Kaladin’s member, which he eagerly fell upon, causing Kaladin to gasp. How long had it been since another had touched him? Not since he’d been a soldier.

Shirt undone and pants loose against his hips, he stepped away from Elhokar long enough to pull away his shirts. Elhokar was wise enough to tackle his own shirt as Kaladin stripped, only unbuttoning it enough so that he could pull it over his head, letting the clothes fall half-hooked on the back of another chair at the table. Elhokar was fumbling with his own belt by the time Kaladin stepped forward again, gracelessly taking Elhokar by the shoulder and flipping him so that he fell chest down against the table. He caught himself on his forearms, feet catching on the stone floor, ass facing Kaladin. He pressed his still-clothed member against Elhokar’s ass, leaning forward so that he could breathe into Elhokar’s ear. He was growing heady with lust, and it was steadily becoming easier to forget who exactly lay beneath him. For the moment, Elhokar wasn’t a king, or a lighteye, he was just a needy little hole that wanted filled up. 

“How long have you been wanting this?” He ground himself against Elhokar’s ass, pressing the other man’s own groin against the edge of the table, causing him to hiss. 

“You’re a captivating man, Stormblessed.” He pushed back against Kaladin, one hand reaching to touch. Kaladin swatted it away, holding it against the tabletop.

Kaladin pulled away to tug the king’s pants to his knees, then pulled his own cock over the band of his pants, pumping it in a few strokes to full length. It was an impressive size, wide and long with a slight rightward curve. When he lay it against the part of Elhokar’s ass, the other man purred in approval. 

“This is storming crazy,” Kaladin couldn’t help but laugh to himself, the picture of his cock against the king’s flesh imprinted in his mind. A shash branded slave fucking a shardbearing king against a table, it was pure fiction.

Elhokar’s other hand moved, too intent for Kaladin to impede before finding a small bottle Kaladin hadn’t noticed on the table before-- an oil, generally used for dipping breads and fishes, but equally suitable for this particular purpose. He slid it to his side, offering it to Kaladin behind him. 

“Get on with it, already.”

He let go of Elhokar’s other hand, which he wisely took beneath his chin, folding his arms as a rest for his head. Kaladin took the small vial, pouring the slick oil onto his fingers and rubbing them together to warm it. 

He looked at the king beneath him, back bowed so that his ass was higher than his shoulders, legs spread as far as his half-shed pants allowed. He rubbed the oiled hand over Elhokar’s rounded cheeks, taking both hands to massage them so that they shone glossily in the sapphire orblight. After collecting more oil in one hand, he spread the King’s ass so that he could see his tight hole, a light smattering of black hair surrounding the entrance like guiding arrows. 

He slipped his oiled hand through the crevice, letting the pads of his fingers stroke against the king’s hole and down until he met the man’s balls, rolling them in his palm, enjoying their sheer weight. Elhokar bucked back into his hand, causing another smile to split Kaladin’s lips. It was crazy, storming crazy, everything about this situation. But it was best to enjoy it.

He took the rest of the oil to slick his cock, lining it up against the King, pressing just enough to cause him to stiffen beneath him, the muscles in his ass and lower back flexing, anticipationspren’s little flags wagging faster at their feet.

“You want this?” He rubbed his tip against his hole, up and down in a teasing, slow pace.

“Storms bridgeboy I--” Elhokar cried out, sentence broken as Kaladin thrust into him, Head falling against his arms as he braced for the force entering him.

He pushed into the king, embracing the warmth, the tension, the  _ tightness _ . It had been ages since he’d fucked anyone, and he wasn’t so stoic as to claim he hadn’t missed it. It was the pure absurdity of exactly who he was fucking that left him not just feeling good, however, but ecstatic. He settled his hands against Elhokar’s hips, thumbs pressing into the king’s lower back hard enough to cause his dark skin to blanch, fingers digging into the hipbone hard enough that it would surely leave a mark. He eased his member into the king’s hole, pulling out enough to push inward again until centimeter by centimeter he filled the king, balls flush against his ass. As he pushed deeper into Elhokar, passionspren and shamespren fluttered over the king’s bowed head, spiralling flowerpetals and snowflakes which fell against his black hair and dark shoulderblades. Each thrust, as they grew to fuller strokes and hastened, added to the small stormcloud which built over the king’s head. Soft, muffled gasps burst from the king’s lips each time their hips connected, the slap of skin against skin and the scrape of the table jostled by the force accompanied by his sound of pleasure. Kaladin allowed himself to sink into the pleasure, to stop thinking of the sheer insanity but just to  _ feel _ , the tight pulse of Elhokar’s insides flexing against his cock, the coiling warmth which collected in his core, the tension of nerves within his member, the throbbing blood that circulated through his entire body as he built up a sweat, pounding into Elhokar. His hair fell over his face as he tucked his chin downward, entranced by the way Elhokar’s hole gripped his cock as he pulled away, a slight tugging pressure as if he didn’t want to let Kaladin part.

His pleasure built and with it the noises which bubbled in his throat, grunts which became growls and little muttered phrases. If he were more aware, he might have held his tongue against the pet names and dirty terms, lost in a haze, he could barely keep from using them.

“So storming sexy, bent over like this for me. Moaning little cremling. You’d just bend over for anyone, wouldn’t you?”

He barely even heard Elhokar’s denial, lost in his own sensation. “Only you, only you,” the cries were lost.

Kaladin let himself balance on the edge of climax, keeping his pace uneven and erratic so that this didn’t end sooner than he wanted it to. Elhokar’s back shone with sweat, and he leaned over it, taking a section of flesh between his teeth and biting down, marking the king as His as he lapped the salt off his back. His hands drifted from Elhokar’s sides to his chest, where he found the king’s hard nipples, flicking them in tandem with his rocking hips.

“Kaladin--” was all the warning he got before the king spasmed around him, body squeezing Kaladin’s cock as he climaxed, seed spilling onto the floor beneath the table. It was not long before Kaladin joined him, pushing fully into the king’s insides, cock throbbing as he released deep into Elhokar.

He fell across Elhokar’s back, rolling throughout his climax, riding out the shockwave. He kissed the king’s neck, nipping at it and leaving red marks against his tan skin. As his breath returned to him, he reluctantly pulled away, stepping back so that his cock slipped out of its sheath, a dribble of semen trailing behind it and dripping to the floor. 

Watching as his seed drooled from the king’s ruined hole, his senses seemed to return, and with it the recognition of the sheer insanity of what he’d just done. Dalinar’s nephew-- more than that, the storming king of Alethkar. He’d be hanged in a storm again, and this time no one would give him the chance to make it out alive. He’d be shredded to ribbons, if not by the stormlord than by the king himself.

Elhokar stirred, and Kaladin felt ready to hurl. He got to his elbows, shakily closing the spread of his legs to stand at full height, taking his pants and pulling them over his hips. He turned to Kaladin, and he was amazed to see not outrage, but an almost remorseful smile. 

“You’ll come again if I call?”

Numb, Kaladin blinked. Astonishing himself, he nodded.

Elhokar nodded back, looking then to the table, where his eyes fell upon Kaladin’s forgotten wine. He took it, and drank. With his other hand, he gave a wave, not turning back to face Kaladin.

Dismissed, chest stirring with a mix of emotions, Kaladin found his shirt off the floor, made himself decent, and left.


End file.
